Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Catherine Cookson

  Mark himself helped her up into the saddle; then taking the reins from the coachman, he dismissed him with a lift of his head, and handing the reins up to her, he said, ‘Until today fortnight then,’ and she, looking down at him, her face unsmiling now but her gaze steady, replied, ‘Until today fortnight . . . if not before.’ With that, she spurred her horse and was gone galloping along the drive, and he stood and watched her until she disappeared from his sight before turning and running up the steps and into the house again.

  At the bottom of the main staircase he paused a moment, his fingers pressed on his lower lip. He knew he should go straight to the nursery, take Matthew’s breeches down and thrash him – he had promised him that the very next time he played a dirty prank on Dewhurst he would lather him – but were he to do so there would likely be screaming, and when the sound reached Eileen, as it surely would because Matthew had a great pair of lungs on him, she would either have one of her real bad turns or punish him with her weapon of hurt silence for the next few days.

  Running once more, he took the stairs two at a time. He was panting when he reached the gallery and as he drew himself to a walk he asked himself why the hurry.

  When he entered his wife’s bedroom again, Mabel Price was adjusting a light silk cover over her mistress’ knees and she turned an unsmiling face towards her master before walking past him and leaving the room.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ Mark looked towards the closed door.

  ‘She didn’t like your visitor.’

  ‘My visitor! She came to see you.’

  Eileen Sopwith ignored this remark and went on, ‘She has heard rumours.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I bet she has. If there’s any rumours to be sifted out our dear Miss Price will be the first down the hole.’

  ‘You mustn’t talk like that about her, Mark, she’s a very good friend to me, quite indispensable.’

  ‘And does that allow her to be rude to guests?’

  ‘Lady Myton wasn’t a guest, Mark, she came here uninvited.’

  ‘She came here as a neighbour, hoping, I think, for a neighbourly response. She likely wants to make friends.’

  ‘By what I hear she’s quite adept at making friends.’

  He stood looking down at his wife while she smoothed out a fine lawn handkerchief with her forefinger and thumb. ‘Did you know she’d been married before?’

  ‘No, I didn’t . . . But you knew I’d been married before’ – he now leant towards her – ‘didn’t you, Eileen, and that didn’t stamp me as a villain.’

  ‘It is different with a woman, and I’m not blaming her for being married before, but I do now understand the reason why they came here in rather a hurry. Her name was coupled with that of a certain gentleman in London, and her husband was for thrashing him.’

  He screwed up his face now as he said, ‘You’ve learned all this in the last few minutes, and may I ask where Price got her information?’

  ‘Yes, you may ask, Mark, that is if you don’t shout.’ There was a pause now while she stared at him before continuing, ‘It should happen that their coachman is a distant relation to Simes, second cousin or some such.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  His head took on its bobbing motion as it was apt to do when he was angry or annoyed, and he said, ‘I suppose Lord Myton challenged some young fellow to a duel because he admired his wife? . . . Oh!’ – he flung one arm wide – ‘Why do you listen to such claptrap, Eileen? Myton, I understand, is well into his sixties and past thrashing anyone or anything, even his dogs.’ He sighed, then said quietly, ‘Why do you listen to Price?’

  He watched her lips quiver and when she brought out in a thin piping voice, ‘I have no-one else to listen to, you spare me very little of your time these days,’ he dropped down on to the edge of the couch and, taking her hands in his, he said patiently, ‘I’ve told you, Eileen, I can’t be in two or three places at once, I’m up to my neck at the mine. There was a time when I could leave everything to Yarrow but not any more, things are critical. Come on, smile.’ He cupped her chin in his hand, then said brightly, ‘You’ll never guess who is being married tomorrow . . . Young Bentwood, the farmer, you know.’

  ‘Really!’ She smiled faintly at him and nodded her head as she repeated, ‘Young Bentwood. Dear! Dear! I haven’t seen him for years. He . . . he was quite a presentable young man.’

  ‘Oh, he’s that all right. A bit cocky, knows his own value, but he’s a good farmer. He’s made a better job of that place than his father did.’

  ‘Do you know whom he’s marrying?’

  ‘A girl, I think.’ He laughed and wagged her hand now, and she turned her face from him, saying, ‘Oh, Mark!’

  ‘No, I don’t really know anything about her.’

  ‘Do you think we should make them a present?’

  ‘A present? Yes, I suppose so. But what?’

  ‘Yes, what?’ She put her head back on the pillow and thought for a moment, then said, ‘A little silver, a little silver milk jug or sugar basin. There’s a lot in the cabinets downstairs, one piece would never be missed.’

  ‘No, you’re right, and it’s a nice gesture.’ He moved his head down towards her and kissed her lightly on the cheek, then repeated, ‘A nice gesture, very thoughtful. When I come back later I’ll bring some pieces up and you can choose.’

  ‘Yes, do that. Oh, by the way, Mark’ – she put out her hand to him now in a gentle pleading gesture as he moved from the bed – ‘Go up to the nursery and speak to Matthew but please, please, be gentle. I know he’s been naughty. Mabel tells me she went up and remonstrated with him. He’s upset Dewhurst again. But the girl is weak, she has no control over the children. I . . . I don’t know what’s going to be done.’

  He turned fully about now and in a manner that swept away his easygoing kindliness of the moment before, he said, ‘I know what should be done, I’ve known what should be done for some time, and we’ll have to talk about this, Eileen. That boy should be sent away to school.’

  ‘No, no, I won’t have it, I’ve told you. I won’t even discuss it. And . . . and anyway, boarding schools cost money and you’re continually telling me that the household expenses must be cut down. No, no, I won’t have it. Leave me. Please leave me.’

  He left her with her hands thrashing the top of the silk coverlet, but he did not go up to the nursery. Running down the stairs once more, but his haste now conditioned by acute irritation, he burst out of the house, hurried across the courtyard and to the stables, and within minutes he was mounted and riding now towards the mine.

  He couldn’t understand the woman, he couldn’t. She could only bear to see the children for a few minutes each day, yet the very mention of sending them away to school upset her . . . No, no; he just couldn’t understand the woman. Or any woman for that matter. Lady Myton who seemed to see life as a joke, or perhaps more accurately as a stage on which to play out her affairs and the cuckolding of her husband. Women were enigmas, and botheration, the lot of them.

  Three

  ‘Aye, you do look bonny. Doesn’t she, William?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, she’ll pass.’

  They both looked smilingly at Tilly standing straight but with head slightly bowed.

  ‘You should have gone to the church. Shouldn’t she, William?’

  ‘Yes, I should have thought you would have liked to see Simon wed because there’s no-one been kinder to you since you first set foot in this house.’

  ‘No, you’re right there, William,’ Annie put in, nodding her head. ‘An’ you would have got a ride in one of the brakes, both there and back. An’ that treat doesn’t come upon you every day, now does it? And I’m sure Simon would be puzzled and a bit hurt likely. I wish I’d had the chance, I do, I do.’

  Tilly’s chin drooped a little further towards her chest. She knew that they were both staring at her waiting for an explanation which she had refused to voice over the past days because she could
not say to them, ‘I couldn’t bear to see him married,’ but she knew she had to say something, so what she said, and in a mumble, was, ‘It’s me frock.’

  ‘Your frock!’ They voiced the words, one after the other. ‘What’s wrong with your frock? You look as fresh as a sprig in it.’

  ‘Aw, Gran!’ She had lifted her head now and also had caught hold of the skirt of the dress at each side pulling it to its full width as she exclaimed somewhat reproachfully, ‘It’s washed out! It’s been turned up and turned down so many times it’s got dizzy an’ doesn’t know if it’s comin’ or goin.’

  At this there was silence for a moment. Then as William eased himself from his elbow and lay back on his pillows and let out a deep grunt of a chuckle, Annie put her fingers across her mouth while Tilly, her head once again drooping, joined her smothered laughter to theirs.

  As she had said, her dress was washed out. Its original colour of deep pink was only to be seen now under the ten rows of pin-tucks that ran shoulder to shoulder across her flat breast. When it was bought five years ago in the rag market in Newcastle for ninepence, the sleeves had been much too long; even after the cuffs had been turned up twice they still reached her knuckles; as for the gored bell-shaped skirt, its six-inch hem had been turned up another nine inches. There had been no thought at that time of cutting off either the bottom of the dress or the ends of the sleeves because Tilly was sprouting ‘Like a corn stalk gone mad,’ as Annie was apt to exclaim almost daily. And so as Tilly grew the dress was lengthened, until the day came when the six-inch hem was reduced to three inches and the dress was now of an embarrassing length reaching only to the top of her boots; in fact she knew she would be indecent if she had been wearing shoes, for her ankles would have been entirely exposed.

  ‘Go on, get yourself off, lass, else you’ll be late. The jollification will be over afore you get there. And look—’ Annie reached up towards Tilly’s bonnet, saying, ‘Loosen some of your hair, a strand or two to bring over your ears.’

  ‘Oh, Gran! I don’t like it fluffed around me face.’

  ‘I’m not fluffin’ it around your face. There’ – she patted the two dark brown curls of hair lying now in front of Tilly’s ears – ‘they show up your skin, set it off like.’

  ‘Aw, Gran!’

  ‘And stop saying, Aw, Gran! There you are.’ She turned her about and pushed her towards the door. ‘Enjoy yourself. Take everything in because we want to hear all about it the morrow. And tell Simon again that we wish him happiness. Tell him we wish him everything that he wishes for himself, and more ’cos he deserves it. Away with you.’

  Tilly turned in the open doorway and, looking towards the bed, said softly, ‘Bye-bye, Granda.’

  ‘Bye-bye, lass. Keep your back straight, your head up, an’ remember you’re bonny.’

  ‘Now, now, now, don’t say, Aw Gran or Granda again, else I’ll slap your cheek for you.’

  One final push from Annie sent Tilly towards the gate, and there she turned and waved her hand before hurrying along the bridle path.

  She hurried until she knew she was out of sight of the cottage, and then her step slowed. It would be all over now; he’d be firmly wed, and to that girl! Woman. Twenty-four, he said she was, but she looked older. Her round blue eyes and fair fluffy hair didn’t make her appear like a young woman. Not that her face looked old, it was just something in her manner. She had only met her the once when coming out of church and she knew she hadn’t liked her. And it wasn’t only because she was marrying Simon, she was the kind of woman she would never have liked. She had hinted as much to Mrs Ross.

  Wasn’t that funny! She was always telling herself it was funny, how she could talk to the parson’s wife openly, even more so than she could to her granny. Sometimes she thought that the parson’s wife and herself were about the same age, but Mrs Ross was all of twenty-six, she admitted so herself. She had never known anyone quite like her, life would be very dull without her, without their reading lessons and their talks. She wondered if she would dance the day. Perhaps not, not in the open. And anyway she mightn’t be there for the wedding had taken place in Pelaw. Still, if the parson should happen to be there and Mrs Ross joined in the dancing, wouldn’t that cause a stir?

  For a moment she forgot the sickness in her heart as she imagined the straight faces and nodding heads of some of the villagers should the parson’s wife forget herself so far as to allow her feet to hop.

  She was glad she didn’t live in the village, there was always bickering among one or other of them, mostly the churchgoers. She knew that Simon had come in for quite a bit of gossip because he had chosen a girl from so far away when all around him were, as her granda had said, lasses like ripe plums waiting for him to catch them falling.

  She came to the burn. It was running gaily today, the water gurgling and struggling to make its way in between the rocks. She crossed it carefully because the water had risen slightly during the last few days owing to recent rainfalls, and was lapping over some of the stepping stones.

  As she reached the further bank and bent forward to pull herself up on to the path she espied the head and shoulders of a boy half hidden by the bushes that bordered a small pool to the side of the burn. As she straightened up the boy rose from the bank but didn’t come towards her, and she looked at him over the top of the bushes, saying, ‘Hello, Steve.’

  ‘Hi there, Tilly!’

  ‘You fishin’?’

  ‘No, no, just sitting watchin’. There’s a salmon here. I don’t know how he got up this far.’

  ‘Oh!’ She went round the bushes, her face eager. ‘Are you going to catch him?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head.

  ‘No?’ She was looking at him in surprise now, and again he said, ‘No; I just like watchin’ him. I don’t think anybody knows he’s here.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t else he wouldn’t be here long.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  She stared at him. His face was solemn, unsmiling. He didn’t look like any one of the McGraths, he didn’t talk like any one of the McGraths, he didn’t act like any one of the McGraths. She had at one time wondered if he had been stolen as a baby, but her granda had disabused her of that idea for he remembered the day Steve was born because he had helped to carry his father home drunk from the hills. There had been a still going and the hard stuff was running freely.

  ‘You goin’ to the weddin’?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She moved her head once and while he stood looking at her she looked at him. He wasn’t very tall for his age. He had a long face and sandy-coloured hair that looked strong, even wiry in parts for strands of it stood up straight from the crown of his head. His shoulders were thick but his legs looked thin, even skinny, below his moleskin knee pants. His movements were quick, jerky; yet when he spoke his words always came slowly, as if he had to think up each one before uttering it.

  He didn’t speak further, and so she said, ‘Well, I’ll have to be goin’, else it’ll be over.’

  ‘You look different the day.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Aye, bonny.’

  She half turned away, then faced him again, and she smiled rather sadly at him as she said, ‘Ta, thanks, Steve, but I don’t believe you. I’ll never look bonny ’cos I’ve got no flesh on me.’

  ‘That’s daft.’ His words came surprisingly quickly now, and he added to them, ‘You haven’t to have loads of fat stickin’ out of you like a cow’s udders to be bonny.’

  For a moment her face remained straight, and then her mouth sprang wide and her head went back before drooping forward, and as she laughed his chuckle slowly joined hers.

  ‘You are funny, Steve,’ she said, taking out a handkerchief and drying her eyes. ‘I didn’t feel like laughin’ the day, but it was the way you said it.’

  ‘Aye’ – he jerked his head to the side – ‘I can be funny at times, that’s what they say, but mostly I keep me mouth shut, I find it pays.’ His face was strai
ght again, as was hers now, and she folded her handkerchief carefully and tucked it in the cuff of her dress before saying, ‘Well now, I must be off this time. Ta-rah, Steve.’

  ‘Ta-rah, Tilly.’

  She had gone beyond the bushes when his voice came at her in a hissing whisper, calling, ‘Don’t let on about this fish,’ and she called back, ‘Why, no! I won’t say a word.’

  But as she went on she wondered why he should be sitting watching a fish, especially a salmon. He was a funny lad, was Steve, but nice. She had always liked him. She wished that the rest of his family took after him.

  She had just reached the coach road when a brake full of people passed her, and they waved their hands and shouted unintelligible greetings to her. But the driver didn’t pull the horses to a stop to give her a lift, and she stood where she was well back on the verge of the road until the vehicle disappeared into the distance because she didn’t want to walk in the dust that the horses and the wheels had thrown up.

  The sounds of jollification came to her while she was still quite some distance from the farm, and she slowed her step. She wished she needn’t go, she didn’t want to see Simon, or his new wife. She had been thinking over the past week that it would be better if she never clapped eyes on Simon Bentwood again, but she knew this would be difficult because they never knew which day he would pop in with the monthly sovereign. That business was still troubling her; she even lay awake at nights now wondering about it.

  As she went through a gateless gap in the stone walls and crossed the farmyard towards the front of the house she saw that the whole place seemed transformed. It wasn’t only that there were a lot of people milling about, but on the lawn there were two long tables set in the form of a T, both weighed down with food; and there was a tent at the far end of the lawn and the open flaps showed the big head of a beer barrel and a laughing man busily filling tankards.